I was awoken by the house telephone ringing. In a daze I blindly searched for my cell phone to check what time it was. I do some quick math to figure out I have two more hours until I actually have to get out of bed. Logically, I return to my slumber.
Coming up the stairs, I see my mom in the kitchen facing the counter. I am halfway up the stairs to the upstairs bathroom when my mom says: “your grandfather passed away this morning.”
I knew what she meant was: “my father passed away this morning.” I stopped mid-stride, came back to the kitchen and held her for a while. It is always hard seeing parents cry, the ones who are supposed to be strong, the ones who are supposed to be invincible through all adversity - there is some parallelism for you.
Throughout the day, I questioned how I felt about my grandfather’s passing. The last time I saw him was close to a decade ago. I say the same few cliché phrases to him over the phone every Chinese New Year; that I’ll take him out for dim sum in broken chinese. I began to wish I felt something more than just slight remorse.
Speaking with a good friend about it, I was overcome with a sadness that I had never felt before. I came to the realization that I will likely never understand how much he probably loved me. My parents told me stories of how they spoiled me rotten when I visited them in Hong Kong at the ripe old age of two. I would never have a chance to repay him for all he did to raise my mom during such harsh times. I would never be able to say a simple thank you. A new perspective on tradition emerged.
For a long time I admittedly tried to separate myself from the past - my traditional Chinese heritage, to the point where I would sometimes be embarrassed to be from where I am. I took for granted the struggle that occurred merely two generations ago. The sacrifice that I am ignorant to saddens me to where it hurts in my chest. I am sorry grandfather, I know you loved me more than I will ever know. Please forgive me. - there is some parallelism for you.